


The Prism Effect

by ambaila



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: AU, Baby Fic, F/M, Follows a series of what ifs., Midnight writing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24840715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambaila/pseuds/ambaila
Summary: Life is just a series of white light until color comes through.
Relationships: Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter, Louis Litt/Donna Paulsen
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Red

One of Harvey Specter’s favorite places in the world was in his own bed. He relished being in his bed with Donna. The red locks strewn against the pillow. He thought to the red dress that was carelessly tosses aside that now sat in a heap on the floor, sure to wrinkle. It was the simple thing in life. As simple as her kissing him goodbye, on her way out, to head to an early morning meeting.

Their weekend had been spent together. It was the first in a long time. It was calm, filled with heat and passion – and for the handful of hours they were properly dressed, they walked the city life tourists. Hand in hand they would leave to get food, to get fresh air, to avoid the temptation of falling back into bed on an empty stomach.

Harvey, against his better judgement, had gone into the office too. Taking half a day was loosely tossed around in the early morning hours. He debated calling in and having Gretchen call Donna to tell him he hadn’t and wasn’t coming in. It was a risk he was willing to take; have her come to him, back to his bed, and for the rest of the day play hooky. They had done that once, a long time ago; they needed to have that conversation again.

The heart, they say, is fueled by anger. Harvey had been at his desk, contemplating ways to convince Donna to take a long-extended lunch when Louis came into his office. Harvey had a case file in his had – a new client that was to be brought on – but he was thinking about Donna.

“Have you talked to Donna?” Louis asked, as if reading Harvey’s mind.

The weekend allowed them cover. Cover to just spend time together and to figure out when they would tell their friends about their new label for their relationship. Harvey thought to the tinge of pink of Donna’s cheeks when Harvey pinned her in the kitchen, whispering salacious things. Breakfast had been forgotten on Saturday.

“No, why?”

“You should come see this.”

Louis had the tone of business in his voice. Harvey nearly missed the warble of worry but caught it when he stood. Harvey followed Louis into the rapidly filling conference room. They were all surrounding the monitor that held a Special New Report of a multi-car car crash in Midtown, near Times Square. People were standing on the street coughing, covering their mouths in shock, while police tried to push the line back.

Before Harvey, or anyone could point out the plume of smoke visibly seen from their office windows, his phone rang. It was an unknown number. It was then that Harvey laid eyes on Gretchen, who appeared in the doorway.

“It’s the hospital. They’re looking for you, Harvey. It’s about Red.”

Harvey answered his phone with a gruff, “Harvey Specter.”

He went back to his office and collected a few things. Gretchen met him at the elevators with Donna’s purse. It hit him that she had been at the office before her meeting and she left her purse. But no, he thought as he took the purse anyway, this wasn’t the one she left the apartment with. It was a different one.

“Harvey,” Gretchen called out before the doors closed. “When they called, they were looking for her husband.”

“Thank you Gretchen.”

The elevator doors slipped close. Another pair leading into the ICU unit of the hospital opened and Harvey stepped out. Phones rang, pages were called through the speakers overhead. Nurses were milling around with clipboards, signing off on patients. There were a pair of double doors that Harvey made his way to – as he had been instructed.

“Sir, may I help you?”

“I’m looking for Donna Paulsen.”

“Are you family?”

“I’m her –“ he thought for half a second to what Gretchen told him before the doors slid close. “I’m her husband.”

It took minutes for a nurse to come out and get him. She informed him on the basics. Donna had been in a car accident and suffered bruising that they were treating. Minimal lacerations to her body from the shattered glass of her town car. They were waiting on X-Rays to see if there was any internal bleeding they had to worry about.

“Your wife is a tough one, sir. She was lucid when they brought her in.”

“Is she lucid now?”

“She’s on heavy painkillers,” the nurse replied. “We’re going to monitor her and see if there are any issues. You’re lucky she’s alive.”

The nurse pulled open the door and pushed the curtains aside, and there she was. With her crown of red hair, strewn against the pillows, Donna was watching. She smiled gently at the sight of Harvey and allowed her eyes to slip shut. Harvey went to her side, took her hand in his and pressed his lips to it. A silent prayer of thanks.

The doctor warned mobility would be an issue. Mobility had become an issue. Quick movements caused Donna’s back to spasm, which were called flair ups. She would double over, grasping the edge of her desk, swearing she was fine in between huge gulps of air. That first night, after coming home from work, she crawled into bed and cried because maybe it was too soon to go back. It had been 9 months since the accident.

Despite no bleeding in the brain, the doctor warned of headaches. Donna would have them and some morphed into bed ridden migraines.

Harvey would never and had never have to help her dress. Her body welcomed the stretch despite some mornings it took longer.

“Hey,” Harvey said one morning, years after the accident.

Donna had rolled onto the balls of her feet, stretching herself to get the hospital box in their closet. She was adding a hospital bracelet to the series of them.

“You okay?” Harvey asked.

“Perfect.” She replied with a smile.

Donna’s hair was short now. Curling in at her shoulders. Long hair and baby fingers were not a good match. He missed the matted, dark wine color hair that was plastered against her forehead as the nurses told her to push. He missed the soft hair on his chest, hours after a shower. His fingers missed tangling in the waves of red.

“Where is Rose?”

“In the living room.”

The day Donna Paulsen went back to work, it was to thunderous applause. She was three months pregnant. The accident had been a year and two months prior. When she announced her departure from the firm for good, Donna was met with friends to say goodbye. Gretchen, who had been waiting at the elevator bank with Harvey was the last to get a word in.

“Take care, Red.”

The two women embraced. As they pulled apart, Harvey adjusted Rose in her carrier from one hand to the other, prepared to take Donna’s hand as they loaded the elevator bank.

There would be a desk forever at the firm. No one would sit at it. Those who knew created the lore. But for those newcomers, it was sacred ground. The name on the desk – _Red_. 


	2. Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warm and Sweet. A perfect combination.

Harvey had been standing at the counter with an orange when his thoughts went back to the first therapy appointment he had in Boston. It wasn’t that he had to go to therapy, it was that he wanted to. 

He loved Donna. He loved being married to Donna. He just needed someone to talk to about the fact that his mother was dead, his father was dead, he quit the firm he worked at for at least a decade and then married a woman he knew for a little more than that and was in an actual relationship with for less than a year. And married her. 

Then they moved to Boston. 

His therapist was a man named Larry. On the first meeting Larry asked Harvey what he thought of the color orange. 

“The color or the fruit?” Harvey had asked. 

“Either.” 

He couldn’t tell a man he didn’t know that orange was the color of dress Donna wore when he got her pregnant. He wasn’t going to tell him the taste of orange juice against Donna’s throat. 

“It reminds me of warmth.” 

Harvey stayed with Larry until Rose was 5. Then Larry retired and Joe came in. Joe was the nephew of someone at the practice. Rose was 5 and about then, Harvey decided he didn’t need therapy anymore. He was content with where he was. Rose was in school; Harvey had a schedule. It had been the second or third appointment with Joe when Joe asked: 

“What do you think of the color orange?”

Harvey had gone home that night to Donna and told her he had been asked the question. But in the office, he blinked at the younger man and tilted his head. 

“Is this a regular question that therapists ask new patients?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Larry asked me the same question when I first started.” 

“And what did you tell him?”

“I told him it made me think of warmth.” 

The first morning as a married man, Harvey woke early. He stood at his bedroom window and watched the sun rise. It was a deep orange at first, followed by the rays of yellow from the sun. He stood without a shirt; sweats encased his legs. A pair of arms had wrapped around his middle, palms flat against his chest. 

Donna stood at his back, wearing an old Harvard shirt of his. She had pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade, and he took her to bed. 

“It’s more than that though,” Joe stated. “Isn’t it?”

Orange was the first onesie Rose got. It had been from Louis. Orange was the first fruit Rose ate without throwing a tantrum. Orange was the first dozen roses he bought for his wife. 

“I don’t know what to tell you Joe.” Harvey shrugged. “It’s a color. It’s a fruit.”

“What don’t you like about the color?”

There wasn’t enough time to talk about the fact that orange was the color scrub cap the doctor wore when Harvey was told about Donna after the car crash. There wasn’t enough time to talk about the burnt orange car that crashed spun out of control near their house the morning they brought Rose home from the hospital. There was definitely not enough time to talk about the fact that orange was his mother’s favorite color. Every painting had orange in it; it was how he knew that the painting that once hung in his office that Donna swapped was the real one - it had orange. 

“Are you going to cut that? Or peel it?” Donna asked. 

“What?” 

“Rose asked for slices.”

“Right. Yeah. Sorry.” 

“You okay, Harvey?”

They had been married for nearly a decade. Their daughter was almost 7. Donna still could see through him. 

“What do you think of the color orange?” 

Donna laughed and shook her head, leaving the kitchen. He heard her tell Rose he’d be out with the fruit soon. 

Orange was orange. It did remind of warmth. It was a color. It was a fruit. That was undeniable. 

Yet, on Harvey’s last therapy session, when Rose was 10, Joe asked him again. 

“What do you think of the color orange?” 

“My wife’s smile.” 

Warm and sweet. A perfect combination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos! Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments!


End file.
